


Benevolence

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Extra Treat, Forced Oral Sex, Godstiel - Freeform, Guns, Leviathans, M/M, Past Abuse, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Torture is not Castiel’s goal. The Winchesters conspired against him, they refused to love and worship him. Castiel needs to remind them of their place.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Benevolence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlindSwandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/gifts).



It didn’t have to be this way. Castiel offered them the chance to love and worship him; their new Lord. That they refused was a slap in the face, but Castiel allowed it. He showed restraint when the Winchesters conspired with Crowley. Even when they bound Death. Castiel needed to hear their betrayal from the source, and it came from Dean loud and clear. “Kill him now!”

Once upon a time, Castiel would have never imagined hearing these words from Dean. They were family, Dean called them that. “I’d have died for you,” Dean said. More lies.

It was a sound plan to enslave Death, Castiel has to give them that. Humans would have no way of knowing that the spell used by Lucifer to bind Death would be no match for God. The Winchesters know the meager creatures of this single planet. Wendigos, werewolves, shapeshifters and the like. They’ve matched wits with demons and angels, archangels too.

But they have no way of understanding God. God is a force all-powerful. A spell mighty enough to bind Death is still made of energy. Energy is life, as is God. Any spell the living can enact is a meaningless scrawl to Castiel. Like the warding on the sides of Crowley’s trailer, or the angel blade Sam stuck through Castiel’s back.

Once, God cared when his creations rebelled. He raised great floods and rained fire to punish those who placed their faith in false idols. It is the nature of the created to deny their gifts. And it is the responsibility of their Lord to remind them where they belong.

Castiel is benevolent unlike his now-absent Father. He will not rain brimstone or great rains upon those who deny him. But he _will_ remind them of their place. It is Castiel’s responsibility as Lord and Father. It has nothing to do with the knot of hurt inside him. Deeper than the multitudes of souls in his belly.

“Just kill him now!” It doesn’t matter. Castiel was never their family, nor were they his.

Castiel could simply kill them. The action would be understandable given their insolence, but Castiel will not. To kill the Winchesters would be to show a lack of patience, and God is understanding. Besides, being struck down by the Almighty is a punishment worthy of Hell, down-sized though it may be. Castiel does not wish to lose the Winchesters. They are not family or even friends, but they are still _his_. They are not Crowley’s, or Hell’s, or anyone’s outside of Castiel’s purview. With proper convincing, they will fall in line. The Winchesters, despite their bravado, are intelligent for their species. All they need is a reminder of their place in the universe.

It seems to hurt when Castiel forces them to their knees. Humans are so delicate. Castiel remembers - he once woke in a hospital bed scratching at a bug bite that refused to stop itching. Such weakness feels faraway, a murmur on the hair on his vessel’s arm. But it exists, and it allows him to be compassionate. God should be compassionate, and fair. Punishment for the crime only.

“Fine, Cas,” Dean jumps in, because Dean always has to jump in about something. “You need to punish someone? Take me,” he growls. “Go wild. But leave Sammy out of it. You’ve done enough to Sam, alright?”

It’s very noble of Dean, and very predictable. For all Dean’s faults, he has always played the role of the caring older brother to perfection. No one in this world or any other could doubt Dean’s allegiance to Sam.

Dean claimed Castiel was his family once too. So many lies.

It’s easy for Castiel to force Sam to put his gun to his head. He barely crooks the arm of his vessel, his index finger giving the slightest tap upward. The barrel of the pistol fastens to Sam’s temple. Its open end etches zeroes into Sam's skin. Sam’s arm tenses, and the muscles in his neck tighten. He shoots a stricken look at Dean. How typical of the Winchesters - looking to each other instead of the one who can help them.

Dean, though. Dean understands where Sam in his distress does not. He twists in Castiel’s direction. “Cas, stop,” he demands. Castiel hears an edge in the words, assurance that Castiel will give Dean what he asks for simply by being told to. That strategy used to work. Not anymore.

Castiel’s silence must make Dean doubt himself. His anger deflates into something panicked and loose-lipped. “This isn’t you,” Dean says. “I’ll- Jesus, Cas, I’ll do whatever you want, ok? Leave Sam alone. _Please._ ”

Castiel has heard this note in Dean’s voice before. He listened to Dean’s prayers as he cried into the dark in his youth. Begging for his mom to come back. Praying for his father to go easy on him. Whispering pleas for Sam to turn out alright. No matter what happened to Dean himself, no matter what he had to do, please - let Sam be ok.

And Dean is right this time. Sam may have conspired on the plot to enslave Death, but it was Dean who gave the ‘kill’ order. Dean who voiced the final betrayal. Funny, Sam literally stabbed Castiel in the back, but Dean’s plea to Death is the wrong that sits heaviest.

“Fine,” Castiel says. He releases his hold, and the gun pops from Sam’s temple. Sam breathes out, the fear in his eyes softening to hope.

With this show of leniency, Castiel turns his attention fully to Dean. “Remove your clothing,” he says.

The relief easing Dean’s features creases into confusion. “What the hell for?” he asks.

Castiel flicks a finger in reply. Sam releases the safety on his gun against his will. He tries to scramble away from his own arm. It’s quite the valiant effort.

Dean’s puzzlement becomes alarm. “Fuck!” he hisses. Castiel forgives Dean the curse because he’s already halfway out of his flannel. “Alright, alright.” After the top layer comes the gray t-shirt underneath. Dean yanks his belt from his jeans. His waist gives a crack of protest.

Dean clambers to his feet long enough to kick out of his boots and socks. His jeans follow, landing in a jagged pile at his side. Dean covers himself with two hands. “There,” he blurts. “You happy?”

Castiel sighs, “No, Dean.” Happiness is an emotion beyond Castiel now. He only has expectations in line with his responsibilities. All he asks for is the respect he deserves. Happiness is for those experiencing the full breadth of mortal experience. Castiel is beyond the need for contentment. Friends or family.

“This isn't about happiness,” Castiel explains, but he doubts Dean will understand. Still, Castiel eases, and Sam’s weight on his trigger finger recedes. Sam blows out a ragged breath. The corners of his eyes are wet.

“I need you to understand what you and Sam are, and what I am,” Castiel says. He speaks slowly and gently. “You betrayed me. After all we’ve been through together.” Castiel’s gaze flicks between the brothers. He refuses to show his hurt. “There are consequences for lying, and consequences for conspiring against your God.”

He flicks two fingers downward, and Dean falls to his knees.

Dean grits out “goddamnit” when he hits the floor. Castiel does not approve, but he allows it to pass. There is enough to punish Dean for already. If Castiel were to add all the times Dean cursed God or Heaven, Dean's penance would last the rest of his lifespan. A drop of water for Castiel, but grueling for a human being.

The skin of Dean’s knees tears when he hits the ground, and shallow scrapes well with blood. Sam stands frozen in place, the gun shivering in his grasp.

Castiel shrugs out of his vessel’s coat and places it on the ground. Castiel unwinds his belt next, and unzips his black slacks.

His vessel’s sex is warm but flacid. Millenia upon millenia have taught Castiel how to compel a human form to arousal. He has experimented with this body. The organ, he's learned, stiffens for the right pressure. When it does, his mind tends to flood with confusing thoughts of the Winchesters.

Despite current circumstances, his sex obeys easily enough. It takes mere moments to provoke himself in the loose embrace of his fingers.

“Cas...what are you doing?” Sam sounds small. “Why are you…? Cas, I don’t know what’s happening, but you don’t have to do this, alright? Whatever you’re thinking, we can work this out.”

Dean stares up at Castiel from his frozen place on his knees. Castiel sees the tension in him, a shiver of nerves clenching his belly.

“Dean, get up.” Sam manages more volume. “Just- just leave, Dean. Get out of here.”

“I can’t,” Dean grits. “He’s not- I can’t move, Sam.” The words come out tight, missing their usual gravel.

Castiel works himself until pleased with his progress, no more or less. When he finishes, he crosses the room. Were his aim to torture, he might drag this part out - take his time strolling before Dean or provoke Sam a bit more. But torture is not Castiel’s goal. The Winchesters conspired against him, they refused to love and worship him. Castiel needs to remind them of their place. The brothers will see how simple it is to trust and love their new God. Castiel rewards those who worship him. He is not his Father. He does not abandon those who put their faith in him.

Castiel threads patient fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean’s shoulders hunch, a breath snagging in his throat. It chokes out in a grunt when Castiel yanks Dean’s head upward. Tears wet Dean’s eyes. His teeth fence together, and tension tugs his jaw into tight lines.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dean hisses. “We’re- damn it, Cas, we’re your _friends_. We cared about each other once. Sammy and me, we would’ve died for you.”

Of course. His ‘friends’ who betrayed him, who cursed his name and begged for his death. Anger mutters through Castiel’s stomach.

“Good,” he says softly. “That’s good, Dean. You did care once. Sam did too. Now, you have the chance to care again.” Castiel holds his cock inches from Dean’s incredulous snarl.

“If you think,” Dean’s voice trembles with rage, “for one damn minute that I’ll-”

His voice snaps off at the same time as Sam’s gasp. The barrel of the gun is back against Sam's temple. It pushes harder this time, the metal grinding against skin and bone. Sam grimaces in pain, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Cas.” Something new and raw enters Dean’s voice. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

Castiel understands, of course. He’s watched over Dean for his whole life. Castiel has heard every prayer and every curse. He’s seen every moment of triumph and followed every tear down Dean's face. Castiel understands what he's asking Dean to do.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam hisses through clenched teeth. “Dean, don’t do anything. Just- please.” His voice breaks. “Please don’t.”

Sam doesn’t understand, though. He doesn’t know the pain in Dean’s eyes or the tremor in his bottom lip when he opens his mouth. Dean winds his hand around Castiel. He keeps his grip firm but steady. With no further hesitation, Dean dips in.

Dean’s mouth is warm and wet, Castiel knew he would be. His jaw knows to slack, and his tongue knows when to stroke and when to recede. Fist tight in Dean’s hair, Castiel’s hips jerk forward. Dean grunts around him, but he stays where he is. He sucks down until his mouth presses against his own hand. Then he lowers his fingers away, forces his head to bow all the way.

Castiel has experienced many tactile things with this vessel, but this is new. He bucks forward, claiming more, and under him Dean gags. His mouth juts open wider, a choking sound in the back of his throat. But Dean presses on, ever the soldier. He nods with impressive deftness, smooth and constant. Dean bobs in a rhythm, lips reaching far enough to stroke the dark hair framing Castiel’s cock.

Castiel’s eyes roll back, Dean’s hair clenched between his fingers. He feels powerful and good. He feels holy and worshipped. Inside him, a multitude of souls pulse with new warmth. Other things stir too - dark, powerful things. Hungry things that yank on Dean hard enough to ache, things that bring new tears to Dean’s eyes and turn his lips an angry red.

Castiel delights in using Dean. It is his privilege, divine intervention. Dean’s punishment and blessing in equal measure. He pumps his hips faster - short, rapid strokes that make Dean grab hands full of Castiel's pants for balance.

“Please.” Castiel barely hears Sam begging behind them. “Please stop.”

Sam doesn’t understand. He thinks he knows everything there is to know about his brother, but some secrets are beyond him. Those secrets belong to Castiel only. They are _his_ , no one else's.

Dean’s eyes are open, but they may as well be closed. There is nothing in them. No pleasure, no pain. He stares at Castiel’s stomach as if just woken from a long sleep. His mouth makes slick, wet sounds as his head nods up and back. The tears come somewhere along the way, two round beads that frame the sides of his face like a plastic surgeon.

Out of great pain comes great joy. Castiel tells himself this as he thrusts into Dean’s waiting mouth. He runs a thumb along Dean’s forehead. This is for Dean’s own good, he wants to say. Dean will understand one day, and feel blessed to be touched by God.

“No more,” Sam croaks. He’s crying too. “Castiel, please.” They seem to be beyond their old fond nicknames. Sam fights against his paralysis. It’s a lost cause. “Take me,” he begs quietly. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Please. Please, no more.”

Dean is slack under Castiel’s grasp. His head is moving, and his mouth runs on auto-pilot. Dean knows when to pull his cheeks in, and he knows when to lick. His face flushes from lack of air, but he does not seem to notice or mind. Dean stares at Castiel’s gut, eyes glazed over. Dean isn’t here. His body is here, but his mind, his spirit…

Castiel thinks of those nights long before they met. How Dean wretched and cried into his pillow. One bottle after another until he could lie motionless on his cheap motel bed and stare up at the ceiling. Floating. Not feeling. Staring at paint chipping off the walls but not seeing it, not really.

Dean does not see Castiel, and the old ones inside Castiel love it. They howl and lick their eager lips. They scratch and claw against Castiel’s belly, begging for a feast.

Castiel shudders under the weight. He snaps his hips forward - one time, two times, and release finds him. It is like taking a shower for the first time, a wave of warm water spilling down every line of his vessel. Castiel floods Dean’s mouth, and Dean swallows methodically. His Adam's apple bobs, and he drains every drop.

Castiel steps back and jerks his hand from Dean’s hair. Dean stumbles without Castiel to use for balance. He blinks slowly at the floor, then looks up at his new God.

This...isn’t Dean. This is a soulless thing. Something that stares at Castiel without a shred of emotion. No anger. No fear. Dean sets hands on his naked thighs, his mouth a swollen smear of saliva. He’s shivering on the floor. His fingers twitch against his bare skin.

“You can have me.” Castiel turns, wide eyed, towards Sam. Sam’s face is wet with tears, but he forces his mouth into a weak smile. “I can...do those things too. Or I’ll try. It doesn’t have to be Dean, you can- you can let Dean rest now. It can be me, Castiel.”

Castiel looks at him, and at Dean. Dean has not moved. His head tips just enough to make eye contact. But there isn’t anything for Castiel to see in Dean’s eyes. What little life was still in them has bled dry.

Something sharp and painful splinters in Castiel’s chest. He removes himself from the scene to a place where he can be alone. Someplace dark and quiet where the only sound is his own ragged breaths.

***

With Castiel gone, the gun falls from Sam’s fingers and clatters against the floor. Frantic, Sam scrambles to his feet, but when he makes it upright he stutters to a stop again. Dean still hasn’t moved, naked and kneeling on the ground. Sam’s heart dives to his stomach.

Carefully, Sam lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tries to keep his touch as gentle as possible. “Dean-”

Sam’s mouth clamps shut when Dean flinches out from under him. It’s like a light switch flips. Dean looks around in a daze, sucking down a rough breath. “My clothes,” he mumbles. His voice sounds like he's swallowed a knife.

“I've got it,” Sam blurts, and he starts gathering his brother's clothes. Sam’s movements feel jerky and unnatural, but at least they give him something to do. He can think about picking up garments instead of what he - what Cas just - and the way Dean -

“Here.” Sam holds out Dean’s shirt first.

He pauses with his hand extended, thinks better of the gesture, and tries to offer the hand instead to help Dean stand. But Dean is already twisting away from him and scrambling on wobbly legs to his feet. Bloody scrapes dot his knees.

Dean sets tender fingers against his jaw. Pain crosses his face, a cut far deeper than any soreness of his mouth.

Sam clutches Dean’s clothes in a white-knuckled grip. “It’s ok,” he tries weakly. “It’s over now.”

But they both know it’s not over. And it won't ever be ok again.

**Author's Note:**

> I veered away from the Soulless!Sam story line for this. Sam with emotion seemed to fit a bit better. ^_^


End file.
